The Hard Sell
by Monker
Summary: No one ever believed him when he said he wasn't in love with Melinda May. A look into the friendship and relationship of Phil Coulson and Melinda May. Set pre-Bahrain, but canon compliant. Rated for language and reference to off-screen violence.


**Author's Note:** A big thank you to kaheels for editing and encouraging this story (and truly, all of my stories) brilliantly. You are a true friend and a tremendous creative resource and I owe you all the thanks.

This story takes place before Bahrain and follows the friendship/relationship between Coulson and May throughout the years. I really hope you like it.

Okay, deep breath in...deep breath out...here we go!

* * *

Nobody ever believed him when he said wasn't in love with Melinda May.

It started as early as the Academy. Their first semester, they quickly realized that they both had Intro to Analysis and Tactical Topography back to back on Tuesdays and Thursdays, with a half hour in between. Soon after that, they started picking seats next to each other in class and comparing notes during that 30-minute break. Their strengths and weaknesses complimented each other, not just in class, but in life at the Academy as well. Phil was friendly and an easy conversationalist, but he tended to speak before he thought. Melinda was more quiet and attentive, willing to let Phil do most of the talking (especially when it came to other people). She had a sixth sense for when he was about to step into an awkward situation and could gently tug on his reigns to keep him from embarrassing himself. When it came to classes, Phil was a natural studier and had a knack for memorizing facts and procedures. Melinda wasn't much of a book worm, but she had the physical disciplines down better than just about anyone else in the entire Academy (and maybe even a few agents already in the field). While Phil grilled her on firearm regulations, Melinda spotted him for pull-up number sixty-four. They made a good pair.

Their friendship lasted all throughout their training, and as more and more people entered their circle of friends/acquaintances, the subtly muttered question that came Phil's way was always the same. "So, what's the deal with you and May?"

"Nothing man. We're just friends."

"Really? Cause...with how much time you guys spend together, I just figured..."

"Nope. Everybody thinks that, but no."

Obligatory pause...

"So if I wanted to-"

"At your own risk, dude. At your own risk."

After graduation, they both braced themselves for the likelihood that they would be separated on the field. S.H.I.E.L.D. was a big place, and its areas of interest extended all across the globe. The chances that they would both be assigned to the same mission, or even the same region, were very slim. Except their superiors had been paying attention over the past five years and had begun to notice the special connection that had formed between them. They complimented each other in the field, and the higher-ups at S.H.I.E.L.D. would have been fools not to capitalize on that advantage. Nevertheless, one thing had to be discussed before their first mission assignments could be drawn up.

"A word, Cheese?" Nick Fury said, passing the recruit from behind as Coulson doctored his bagel at the breakfast bar.

"Yeah, sure," Coulson replied, tossing the emptied jelly container into the trashcan and grabbing a napkin before turning to join the other man at his table.

Agent Fury had been his recruitment officer back in '81, and ever since then, the agent had kept a keen eye on Coulson all throughout his training, even giving him the very regrettable nickname 'Cheese' after watching him shoot at the firing range his first year. "Hooo!" the officer had said, pulling the paper target from the clips with an impressed scowl on his face. "Look at that chest square! Motherfucker looks like a block of Swiss cheese!" Within that context, the nickname was actually rather flattering. However, most people didn't seem to be aware of that story, and so the nickname resulted in more than a few unpleasant pranks (many of which at the hands of one Melinda May). His duffel bag and foot locker took turns smelling like gouda, feta, and ricotta for almost his entire second year.

Coulson sat down at the table with Fury and began to scrape the jelly evenly across the surface of his toasted bagel. He looked up at Fury when he realized the other man had never begun talking. The agent was just staring at him with his hands folded on the table, a serious look in his eyes.

Coulson froze. "Is everything alright?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out. You know an Agent Bridge?"

Coulson nodded, putting down his butter knife, breakfast completely forgotten as long as that look was on Fury's face. "I met him a few days ago. May was put on an upcoming mission of his."

Now Fury nodded. "The Sausalito affair. Turns out Bridge is looking for one more before they set out tomorrow."

Coulson gave a double blink and straightened up a little more on his bench, his brows arching subtly. "Oh?" he tried to sound nonchalant, tried to not get his hopes up.

Fury hummed the affirmative in a way that sounded vaguely like a growl. "Wanted to know if I thought you'd be a good fit."

Coulson swallowed and just nodded expectantly.

"Now I need to know. I'm going to ask you something I've never asked you, but I need to know. Is there anything that might...distract you on a mission like this. Make it so that your head wasn't totally in the game."

His knee-jerk reaction was _No! Absolutely not! I will do whatever it takes, sir. You can count on me!_ But because of the severity in Fury's eyes, he knew he needed to answer that question more rationally. After some thought, he replied, "... Like what?"

"You and Agent May fooling around?"

Again, Coulson's eyebrows lifted. "Are me and-...no!" Coulson even laughed a little, relieved it wasn't some other, deep, dark misgiving Agent Fury had been harboring all this time. "No. No, May and I are completely platonic."

Some of the intensity in the senior agent's gaze lifted upon hearing that genuine laugh. But he verified nonetheless. "And you're good to keep it that way?"

"Absolutely. Look, May is my best friend, but there's nothing going on between us. Never has been."

Fury looked at him long and hard, trying to measure up the believability of his response. Coulson called to mind his past interrogation classes and made sure he was projecting all of the tell-tale signs of a truth-teller, even as he was aware Fury probably knew exactly what he was doing.

"She's not really my type," Coulson added, for good measure. "And I'm pretty positive I'm not hers either. I promise, we'll work fine together. Better than fine, even. We'll be great!" Coulson closed his mouth with a click of his teeth when he realized he was overselling. It was almost like he could feel Melinda kick his leg beneath the table.

"Okay," Fury said, on the tail end of his grueling stare. "I'll give my final recommendation to Bridge. But I'm telling you, Coulson..." he pointed an intimidating finger towards him. "I'm backing you on this. I don't want a headache for it later." With that, he finally stood and walked away.

And Coulson let out a breath of relief. Of all the times he'd had to make that case, this one had the most at stake. And even now, he was pretty sure Fury didn't really believe him. Not a hundred percent. No one ever believed him when he said he wasn't in love with Melinda May.

* * *

"May look at this. This is amazing," Phil said, a cheeky grin on his face as he approached Melinda from behind, waving a file in his hand. She was still removing the tape from her fists after what seemed to be an aggressive workout in the gym. They had both been in the field for almost eight years now, but Melinda still trained like she was an academy cadet conditioning herself for her first PT exam. With their typical accountability/competitiveness in play, Coulson tried to rise to the standard she set, but she didn't make it easy. Nights like this, he would much rather be nerding out in the records room than trying to put mileage on the gym's new punching bags.

Coulson dropped the file onto her duffel bag. The front of it read _Subject File: Grimm, Benjamin J._ "Turns out, our new level five clearance finally grants us access to Grimm's file. And not to brag, but, my theory?" he propped his arm across her shoulder and reached out with his other hand to tap the manila folder, "...one-hundred percent accurate."

He craned his neck to see her reaction, and the smile fell from his face when he did. It might have just been sweat, but based on her frown, it might have been something else that darted down her cheek just now. "What's wrong?"

She shrugged his weight off of her shoulder and wiped the back of her hand across her cheek. "Nothing. It's fine." She moved his file onto the bleacher beside her duffle bag and then proceeded packing up her gear.

Coulson scowled. "Hey," he said, pushing a hand onto the top of her bag. "Don't do that." He waited until she finally looked up at him, then he cocked an eyebrow at her and turned his head slightly. It was the look they gave each other that said _'You know I see through your bullshit.'_

Melinda sighed and threw the last of her tape onto the bag. "It's just a stupid fight."

Phil sat down on the bleachers. "With Andrew?"

"He's mad at me, but I can't exactly see why. I think it's because of the ceremony last night."

"The ceremony? Why would he have a problem with the ceremony?"

"Well, not the ceremony itself. The party afterward. Apparently, he thought after the thing, we were going out and celebrating, just him and me. But _I_ didn't know that's what he wanted to do and really," she took a breath, "...I mean, _I_ wasn't the only one being promoted yesterday. It was a big day for _you_ too." Coulson's brows perked up as she continued, "So I wanted to stay at the party and celebrate with you and all of our friends."

"Hmm..." Coulson hummed in thought.

"I think he's getting tired of S.H.I.E.L.D. Every time we get together, it's always at a S.H.I.E.L.D. thing. I think it's starting to piss him off."

Again, Coulson cocked a brow at her, this time with a tiny, rueful smile. "I don't think that's it."

She gave him a puzzled look. "Then what?"

"Here," he said, holding out his hand. "Give me Andrew's number; I'm going to call him."

Melinda rolled her eyes and turned to zip up her bag. "No, Phil. This is my problem; I'll fix it. I don't need you swooping in and playing advocate. This doesn't concern you."

"Actually," he replied, scratching at the corner of his mouth, "I think it might."

Again, Melinda scowled at him, unsure.

"Look, every time you guys get together and do something at S.H.I.E.L.D., you know who else is there?" He just raised his eyebrows and let the question linger.

Melinda scoffed. "You think this is about _you_?"

"Let's face it, May. If I was dating a girl, and her best friend was a guy...add to that the fact that he's ultra-handsome, and smart, and funny..." he grinned at her and she just rolled her eyes again, shaking her head for good measure, "...and the two of them spent almost all of their time together...I'd have some questions."

She gave him a long, hard look.

"Let me call him," Phil repeated. "This is something Andrew and I have never talked about, but I think it's probably time."

Reluctantly, Melinda conceded and gave him the number, as well as the time of day when Phil would stand the best chance of reaching the busy psychiatry resident. Armed with that information, Coulson made his way back to his room at the base. He had some strategies to draw up. This was going to be an important conversation. No one ever believed him when he said he wasn't in love with Melinda May, and for the most part, that was fine. It bothered him at first, but the longer he knew her, the more he admired her ability to not give a shit about what people thought of her. Eventually that trait rubbed off on him and he decided it wasn't important that everyone believe the truth about him and May. There wasn't much riding on whether or not they could beat the rumor mill and set the record straight, so he just let people think what they wanted to think. It's not like it caused any harm. But this time was different. This time, one of them had something to lose. So now more than ever, when he said he wasn't in love with Melinda May, it was imperative that Andrew believe him.

* * *

Phil's eyes shot open when he heard the latch in the door give way. He sat upright on his cot, unsure if the creak that resulted was from the canvas fabric beneath him or from his own sore joints. When you got to be his age, it might have been a little of both. He didn't have long to dwell on this however, because the heavy door to his cell was now swinging towards him. He was met by an armored soldier, tactical mask and goggles covering his face, and an AK-47 in his hands. The soldier stepped into the center of the room with some urgency and aimed the gun at Coulson, who stayed seated on his cot.

The next moment, a second soldier came in, grasping Melinda May firmly by the arm. He threw her roughly against the far corner of the cell, a safe distance from both Coulson and the door. Coulson looked back to the soldier with the rifle, and the masked figure just shook his head, as if to say "Don't try it."

Then, both soldiers cautiously backed their way out of the cell and slammed the door, the latch screeching back into place. Immediately, Coulson was on the move.

"What did they do to you? Are you okay?" he asked, coming to a crouch right in front of her. Melinda's nose and eyebrow were both caked in old blood, and a surveying sweep of his eyes across the rest of her noted abrasions on both of her wrists and small burn marks on her arms. "Those bastards," he cursed in answer to his own question.

"Forget about that. Are you okay?" She returned the worried look and grasped him by the shoulders as she searched him for signs of abuse. Other than some malnourishment, Coulson's stay at Casa de Bad-guy had been a lot more accommodating than Melinda's. His torture was mostly psychological and involved listening to a lot of screaming through these cinderblock walls.

"I'm fine. They haven't touched me," Coulson said, almost ashamed.

May settled back against the wall when she was certain he was alright. "And they haven't said a word to me. So you get the questions and I get the beatings, is that it?"

Coulson too readjusted and sat by her side. "Looks that way."

"What is it they want?" she asked, lowering her voice to barely above a whisper.

Coulson looked up into the corners of the room, even though he had been staring at nothing _but_ this room for the past three days and knew that there weren't any cameras or visible microphones in it. Still, he tucked his head into his shoulder and mouthed, "Albania."

May just nodded and looked forward, letting her head tip back against the cold wall. Albania had been the location of Coulson's previous mission, but May hadn't gone with him. She had been involved in a situation of her own in Cairo. Now she was glad she had missed it. She much preferred this distribution of responsibilities, with Coulson tucked away in this room while she handled the grunt work in the other.

Coulson sighed and also leaned his head back. "Not sure what's with this shared space all of the sudden."

"They wanted you to see this." She gestured to her face. "They're trying to manipulate you. Which means this next round, they're going to kick it up a notch. You need to be ready to handle a harder round of questions, and for longer this time, probably."

"I know," he said glumly.

"You can't start to waver, not now."

"I know." He tried to gulp, but his throat was almost completely dry. One little cup of water a day didn't do enough towards hydration, and all of his skin felt tighter and chapped as a result. May was probably in even worse shape. He wasn't sure how well they were feeding her. He looked over and noticed a fresh line of blood, slowly carving its way down her temple. Coulson pulled his dress sleeve down over his hand and reached up to dab away the scarlet streak.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, unable to keep it in any longer.

"Coulson-"

"They're only doing this to you because I goaded them. I knew what they were after and told them to do their worst to me because I wouldn't tell them anything. Then the big one said that if I was so tough, maybe they would have to spend some time with my 'little girlfriend' and then I would talk... And I tried to tell them. I tried to tell them that you weren't... But..." Coulson just pinched his lips together and shook his head as he continued to gently clean her wound with his sleeve. He couldn't tear up. He didn't have the right to tear up. Out of the two of them, he wasn't the one who should get to complain about anything right now.

"Once they got the idea in their heads, there wasn't anything you could say to change their minds, Coulson." She stared at him, noticing how he refused to look her in the eye. "You haven't told them anything, have you?"

"Of course not," he almost spat, like even the question was slightly insulting.

"Then you're doing this _right_. You have nothing to apologize for."

He sighed as he finished his doctoring. "I still wish our roles were reversed."

"I don't," she answered quietly, causing him to drop his gaze and look her in the eyes once again. They just stared at each other in silence for a good while.

No one ever believed him when he said he wasn't in love with Melinda May. And at a certain point...he started to doubt it himself.

* * *

Thank you so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed this little story! I am the sort of writer who really loves hearing the criticism and contributions of my readers. So please, if you have a second, leave a review here and let me know what you thought! I would really value your input.


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